More Than The Recommended Dose
by fairytalemanipulator
Summary: Oneshot. Sam notices Dean's habit of popping painkillers, and decides to speak up. Bad summary, I know a little AU, set after Shadow


**Title: More Than The Recommended Dose**

**Author: fairytalemanipulator**

**Rating: PG-13, for drugs and language**

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. Also, spoilers for _Shadow_ and maybe some others…**

**Summary: Sam notices Dean's habit of popping painkillers, and decides to speak up. A little AU. Oneshot.**

**A/N: I was just thinking along the lines of 'what if', and I was like, "Well, what if Dean had a painkiller habit?" So I wrote it. Haha. This is set right after the boys leave Chicago in _Shadow._ Enjoy, and please review!**

"Sam…"

"Dean, you've been bleeding for the last hundred miles, let me help!"

"Dude, don't be a pansy-ass, I got this,"

"Dean! Seriously, I…"

The bathroom door slammed in Sam's pleading face. Sam stared at the peeling paint for a second before turning away and throwing himself on one of the beds. It let out an ominous squeak, and Sam sighed. If only he could make this right, make what he said okay…

"_Things will never be the same."_

"_They could be,"_

"_I don't want them to be."_

Sam let out another sigh, listening to the water run in the bathroom. Dean was hurting, physically and emotionally, and it hurt Sam to know that Dean didn't want his help.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

In the bathroom, Dean examined his face in the mirror, cursing under his breath at the bloody claw marks on his face.

"Son of a bitch,"

Dean cleaned himself up in a matter of minutes, knowing that Sam was liable to come barging in at any second to make sure he hadn't passed out or something. He decided that the rest of his body was just sore, and popped open the door, stepping into the small motel room. They had stopped once they both felt immensely fatigued and less frightened than they had in Chicago, whether they would admit it or not. Dean knew that they had come extremely close to dying, and he was grateful for Sam's quick idea that saved their entire family. _Or what's left of it, anyway,_ he groused in his head.

Dean headed over to his duffel, ignoring Sam completely, even when he sat up on the bed and stared at Dean. Dean rummaged around until he found a prescription bottle of painkillers and without looking at the instructions, popped three into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

"Where did you get those?"

Dean was surprised at hearing Sam's voice so serious. Yeah, lately he'd been uptight, but he wasn't expecting to give some in-depth explanation of some meds he took.

"What does it matter?"

Sam looked at him, long enough for Dean to get uncomfortable.

"Dude, what the hell? Is there something on my face besides the huge claw marks, or what?"

"Do you ever read the dosage instructions?"

"Where is this coming from?" Dean's tone had taken on a guarded quality, something that didn't escape Sam's notice.

"What, is it a habit now? Whenever you see a little bit of blood, empty the entire thing down your stomach?"

"Is there a fucking point in there, somewhere?"

"Yeah. It's that I don't think you should be taking those all the time. You treat it like candy, Dean, popping it in your mouth like it's nothing. Those are _prescription _drugs, not placebo pills. I see you taking them all the time, and usually it's not that bottle. You have like seven, one of ibuprofen, two of Advil, and the rest all prescription. You think I don't know when you take them, but I see you doing it, Dean,"

"Are you saying something to me? Because—"

"I'm saying I think you have a problem," The words echoed in the sudden silence that fell between them. Dean stared at his little brother for a second, his mouth opening in wordless denial. Sam just looked at Dean, the almost-empty orange container still dangling from his hand. He hadn't meant it to come out so accusing but he had been wondering for a while. Dean was always in possession of some kind of pain reliever, and Sam thought back to when he hadn't seen Dean taking them more than a couple times a week. He couldn't remember when that had been.

"Dean, I think you need some—"

"Don't say it."

"Don't say what?" Sam was utterly bemused at his brother. Dean was looking at the ground, barely moving his mouth as he spoke to the carpet.

"I don't need help, Sam, I got this,"

"No, you don't, and I think you should recognize when—"

"Don't go all fucking therapist-boy on me now! I don't need this shit, Sammy!" Dean bellowed unexpectedly at Sam, who recoiled at the rage he felt in his brother's voice.

"I don't need this from you…" Dean repeated to himself, looking down at the plastic bottle. He replaced it in his bag, then straightened up and without warning, headed towards the door.

"Dean! Dean, don't leave…" Sam's words were lost behind the sound of yet another slamming door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Once outside, Dean paced, frenzied, out in the parking lot. How could Sam have accused him of that? It was as bad as his brother thinking he was a crack addict or something. Dean hadn't touched drugs, not once—well, there was that one time when they were living in Ohio, and Dean had tried some weed, but it had given him such a headache that he vowed to never do it again. And now, painkillers? Yeah right.

_But when was the last time I didn't take pills to knock me out at night?_ a little voice nagged in his head. He swatted it away. "I don't have a problem," he muttered to himself. "I don't!" he shouted out to the night sky that was slowly giving way to dawn. He had gravitated towards his precious Impala, and now slid down and rested his back against the tires.

_He's just being a nasty bitch because…_but Dean's reassuring voice couldn't find a reason why Sam would be accusatory for no good reason. He just wasn't like that. Dean knew Sam was conflicted about college and family, and he would leave that alone for a while. Sam wasn't lashing out at him for not accepting his decisions, so what was it?

_He's right, _one voice said.

_NO. He isn't. I'm Dean Winchester. I'm no pill popper._ But the reassurement faded away with the gentle breeze in the air. _I'm no pill popper._ He wasn't—he couldn't be…

Oh God. _I am_.

How many does he take a day? _Yesterday- I don't even remember, but it was more than the recommended dose for sure._

Day before? _Jesus Christ. _

When did this all start? _Who knows? Sometime after Sam left for college…_Dean continued to psychoanalyze himself.

Why? _I was lonely. Me and Dad were always on different hunts. I guess I just started out with one, and the next day…_ What was it Sam had said? _Poppin' 'em like candy. Jesus. Have I been driving around hopped up on some meds?_

Dean distantly heard a door slam, heard booted footsteps crunching in the gravel, but barely acknowledged them in his mind. All he could think was, _How did I become this? _

"Dean?" A soft voice alerted Dean to the presence of none other than Sam. _Poor Sammy. He must have known all along. Wonder if he was too scared to say anything before. _

"Yeah," Dean's voice was rough with unshed tears.

"You okay?"

Dean laughed a sort of this-is-so-not-funny laugh. "Yeah, I'm just peachy keen, Sammy. Realizing that you're a pill junkie really makes for a great feeling,"

"I'm sorry," Sam's voice got even softer. Dean looked up, trying to make eye contact with his brother's fleeting gaze.

"What the hell for?" Sam picked at his jeans.

"For not helping you before. I kind of wondered, but I didn't want to say anything because I thought you knew what you were doing,"

Dean groaned. "Do not make this your fault too, Sammy. I think you already have enough to blame yourself for, what with global warming and the hole in the ozone layer and all,"

"I'm serious, Dean. Why do you have to make everything into a joke?"

"Maybe that's just how I am, okay?" Dean felt an avalanche unleash itself in his chest, and he felt his oxygen supply cut off.

"I can help you,"

"By doing what?"

"I can take those pills and flush them down the toilet,"

"Don't you dare, Sam, we might need those later,"

"We'll make do."

Dean looked at Sam, the hair blowing in his eyes. Sam avoided Dean's gaze, and Dean knew immediately.

"You already did it, didn't you, you asshole?"

"Did what?" The look on Sam's face was so blatantly innocent Dean knew it was false.

"You flushed 'em! That's not exactly how it works, smartass! You're supposed to do it one step at a time!"

"How do you know?"

"I…" Dean lapsed into silence, only to be prodded by Sam to continue. "I read a couple of brochures at a free clinic, okay?"

Sam didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. They both leaned back, heads resting against cool steel, bodies almost touching but still distant. Sam decided it was time to bridge that gap.

"I'll help you, Dean. We'll get through this together. Just…just try to talk to me once in a while, okay? I know it's hard after a tough gig or something, but instead of swallowing painkillers to forget it can't you just say something?"

"Me and words don't really mix,"

"Well, you can try can't you?" Sam's tone was a mixture of chastisement and pleading. Dean felt Sam's plea, he felt it loud and clear. His body felt numb, and he realized that the numbness was the only reason he did it. He did it daily, took them slowly and habitually, until they became ingrained in a part of his lifestyle. Instead of words, he popped a pill for every pang he felt in his heart, for every person they couldn't save; for every time he felt his shortcomings. But Sam—Sam could help him. If they tried, both of them together.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can try,"

"It's all we can do, huh,"

"Yup." Dean draped his arm casually around Sam's shoulder. "You know, I think I'm all outta chicky moments for this year,"

"Whatever, Dean. I know you're a softy at heart, you big teddy bear you,"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said, laughing softly under his breath. He hoped Sam didn't notice his moistened eyes, because he would never give up on that one. It touched him that Sam, with all of his grumbling about the hunting life and Dean dragging him along like luggage, he still cared. _He still cares_. Even when Dean had separated their already fractured family, even when Sam had said himself that this wasn't the life for him, he still cared.

And he realized something else as he watched night turn itself into dawn, and a new day began; new beginnings on the horizon.

_He didn't tell me not to call him Sammy_.

**Please review! Thanks for reading!**


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